


A Good Idea

by WearyBlues



Category: The Magnificent Seven (2016)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Fraternity, M/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Rating May Change, fraternity
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-19
Updated: 2016-10-18
Packaged: 2018-08-23 07:59:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,391
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8320114
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WearyBlues/pseuds/WearyBlues
Summary: Goodnight has a hard time finding a job after the war. He ends up working the graveyard shift at a 24/7 costume store. Needless to say, he meets some interesting characters. 
AKA Some of the Magnificent Seven are in a frat, some aren’t. Somehow, they find each other.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Wanted something vaguely Halloween-y (he, weenie) just in time for the holiday! This will likely be long-ish (for me anyway, which is anything over 2k) and will be finished before the month is up. Next update will (should) be on Sunday, then one more after that if needed.
> 
> So, uh, leave me some kudos or a comment if you liked it, some critiques if you didn't! Have a great day regardless!
> 
> (Note: this is unbeta-ed, so all mistakes are mine.)

When Goodnight comes home, nothing’s really changed. Louisiana is just as he remembers it- hot and humid and goddamn unbearable. 

Out of obligation, Goodnight visits his mother in New Orleans. He gets a door slammed in his face for his trouble, but at least he can say he tried. Next, he drives over to Lafayette.

Sam is about the same as Goodnight remembers, too. Tall and immovable as stone, watching him with a kind, but critical eye. 

“I take it they didn’t have phones out there in the desert, huh?” Sam squints in disapproval at him, but his voice is fond. Goodnight lets himself smile back. 

“I guess not.”

So they watch horror films together like they did when they were boys, making up excuses to get roarin’ drunk. In the morning, after the beer bottles are cleared away, Goodnight brews coffee and they talk. 

And so, life goes on. 

Goodnight learns that Sam’s enrolled in the police academy and is trying out vegetarianism. He hopes one of them sticks, but preferably the one that keeps the shower water hot. In the meantime, Sam works as a manager at a costume store and yells at college kids. 

Goodnight doesn’t know when they both got so old, but it must have happened while he was gone. When he shipped out, they were still boys, camping out in Sam’s shitty dorm and complaining about big things and little things. 

“Twenty-six ain’t that old.” Goodnight grouses as he skims the classifieds. 

“Ancient.” Sam grins, and for once, Goodnight feels oddly content with that.

Eventually, Sam gets Goodnight a job alongside him. Of course, only after weeks of browsing internet ads and hitting the pavement so hard Goodnight swears he could see stars. Sam is a hard man to needle, but Goodnight is persistent. 

Together they stock wolf masks and tutus, make silly displays of colored hair spray and sneak long-expired candy from the backroom. In a way, Goodnight feels like a boy again. 

At the same time, his mother’s voice sneers in his head. For once, she’s right. It’s pathetic for a man his age, from his family, to be working minimum wage at a chain costume store. Taking shit from stoned college students in the wee hours of the morning is not what Goodnight imagined for himself, and surely not what his mother expected. Still, Goodnight cherishes it. 

Inevitably, things go wrong. And maybe, just maybe, a little right. 

\- 

First, a man comes in looking for fake blood, which, okay, is not an unusual search around the holiday. But before Goodnight can respond, the man turns on his heel and stalks back out of the store. Then, not a minute later, the man returns requesting real blood. 

Goodnight is a little proud of himself for not laughing. He calmly explains to the man that the store does not in fact stock real human blood, but that substitutes can be found in aisle 4. His voice doesn’t even crack, even as he fails to ward off hysteria. 

The man seems disappointed, but nods understandingly and disappears into the depths of the store. For a few minutes, Goodnight closes his eyes against the bright glare of the fluorescent lights and sighs deeply. He can feel a headache throbbing dully at his temples, though it is almost routine. 

Soon after, the man returns with 17 bags of fake blood and puts them down by the register earnestly. The man even looks him straight in the eye as Goodnight rings him up. 

It does give Goodnight an opportunity to look at the man, just in case of a sudden rise in vampire-y activities. Goodnight isn’t a superstitious man, but stranger things have happened, so he observes. 

The man is younger than him, but unshaven. There is also a crudely drawn penis on the man’s left cheek and what Goodnight prays is jellos in his hair. Though what is most immediately apparent is the choking smell of booze and sweat

As though sensing Goodnight’s interest, the man lifts up an armpit and takes a deep breath. Goodnight tries not to grimace, he really does. At the same time, another man swaggers in and cackles like a jackal.

“You smell like a sewer, _pendejo _.” The other man grins, looking equally unwashed and just as drunk. He is, however, sporting a comically styled mustache. Goodnight bags the blood quicker.__

__“That’s not what your mother said last night.” The first man fires back, slapping a wad of dollar bills on the counter and leaning against it, crossing his arms defiantly._ _

__The other man doesn’t stop grinning. Instead, he turns to Goodnight and gestures to the packets of blood. “It’s for a prank.”_ _

__“Like from Carrie!” The first man interjects, pleased._ _

__“Oh?” Goodnight manages, nodding along like it isn’t 3 in the morning and they are all perfectly sober. God, Goodnight wishes Sam was here to deal with the dumbass college kids._ _

__The second man leans close to him and whispers conspiratorially. “They’ll never see it coming.”_ _

__Still nodding like a bobblehead, Goodnight pushes the bag into one of the man’s hands and makes a polite, but urgent gesture to the door. Even blackout drunk, the men seem to get the gist._ _

__As the two lurch into the cool nighttime air, Goodnight suddenly feels incredibly old. Like if he combs his hair tomorrow morning he’ll find grey streaks and bald patches._ _

__Either way, Goodnight ends up sitting in the backroom and laughing himself sick._ _

__-_ _

__Surprisingly, or unsurprisingly, the two men return, this time dragging along yet another man.  
Thankfully, it’s only 10 and they all seem within spitting distance of sober._ _

__Besides, Sam is still on shift and lurking in the back, running inventory, so if needed Goodnight has backup. Though before Goodnight can holler for him, the men spot him._ _

__“We’re here for more blood.” The new man says, straight-faced, dark eyes locked on Goodnight’s intensely. The mustached man, sans mustache this time, winks at him and the smelly man gives him an enthusiastic thumbs up._ _

__As Goodnight rings up another 10 bags of fake blood, the men introduce themselves._ _

__“You can’t be friends if you don’t know what to call them.” The smelly man reasons, then tips a nonexistent hat to him. “I’m Joshua Faraday, but only my ma calls me Joshua. You can call me Faraday.”_ _

__“You let me call you Joshua.” The no-longer-mustached man grins lecherously at him._ _

__Faraday ignores the man, and turns back to Goodnight. “That’s Vasquez, gettin’ a swole head just ‘cause he got chosen to be pledgemaster.”_ _

__“You’re just jealous that Billy picked me.” Vasquez smirks, faltering as Faraday launches himself at him._ _

__The final man gives Goodnight a tired look and quietly pays him. “My name is-” He starts, but is cut off by shouts from Vasquez and Faraday._ _

__“Hey, hey! You can’t tell him, you’re a pledge.” Vasquez grunts, pinching Faraday’s nose between calloused fingers and tugging roughly._ _

__“It’s against the rules.” Faraday nods, jamming his elbow into Vasquez’s ribs._ _

__Vasquez pauses dramatically. “His pledge name is Red Harvest.”_ _

__“He cooks raw-ass steaks.” Faraday elaborates._ _

__Goodnight is saved from responding when Sam returns from the backroom. With the way he’s glaring, Goodnight almost feels bad for the kids, but not quite._ _

__“It’s him!” Faraday gasps, releasing Vasquez and scrambling to his feet._ _

__Vasquez snatches up the bag and the three hightail it out of the store, Sam’s burning gaze on their retreating backs._ _

__Sam slaps Goodnight on the back as he lets out a choked laugh. _God, he used to be one of them, back when the world almost made sense and his head felt like it was screwed on straight.__ _

____Suddenly, it’s as if all the good humor has drained out of him, leaving him empty and tired. Sam grips his shoulder and sighs._ _ _ _

____When they go home the next morning, Sam doesn’t say anything when Goodnight takes more than his fair share of booze from the fridge. Still, Goodnight can feel careful eyes on his back and hates Sam just a little._ _ _ _

____Voices and screams tickle on his scalp, mingling with the whispers of gunfire that drift in and out like radio static. In the weak morning sun, Goodnight thinks too much to sleep._ _ _ _

____So he takes countless swigs from blurred brown bottles, then he doesn’t think much at all._ _ _ _


End file.
